


A Dove in the Attic

by virtuevalentine



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Eventual Smut, M/M, angel au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-14 11:07:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15387438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuevalentine/pseuds/virtuevalentine
Summary: Frank, a single father, finds an angel in his yard. As he nurses him back to health, he learns that he needed to do some healing of his own.





	1. Anniversary

["Rêverie" - Debussy]

-

Something happened to Frank Iero on that fated summer's day, when the cicadas were singing and the heat beat down on the denizens of Victorville—a miracle of sorts. He could've never in a million years seen this coming: An angel had ended up on his doorstep—Well, technically, his backyard—A real angel with wings, come-from-heaven and everything.

It all began earlier that day. Frank woke up to the cooing of mourning doves. There was a nest in a bush outside his window. Despite the sunshine that leaked through the curtains, he found himself unable to get out of bed that morning.

Today marked the second anniversary of his wife's death.

He stared blankly out at the master bedroom, large and empty around him. The house was much too big for a single father and his seven-year-old son. Frank did okay for himself, being the co-owner of a tattoo parlor, the only one within a five mile radius in an up-and-coming retail block. His wife was more well off. She came from a family of money and she also used to run a successful boutique of her own, now taken over by her sister. Frank was left with a large house: two stories, three bedrooms, three baths, vaulted ceilings, with a lake out back. Plenty of room for the family they planned on having. Jamia had wanted many children. She had only given him one before her untimely death. It was a car accident. A drunk driver. 

He dragged himself out of the bedroom and saw his son, Miles sat out by the kitchen counter, already fully dressed, eating a bowl of cereal. "Hey, skunk," Frank greeted. Miles looked up at him briefly before returning to his cereal. "Ready to see mom, today?" asked Frank. Miles nodded. Frank eyed the piece of paper folded next to him. "What's that?" Miles handed it to him and he unfolded it to find a drawing of a family portrait. He'd drawn Jamia with wings and a halo and  _I love you mommy_  was written in crude handwriting underneath. "She's gonna love it," Frank said, ruffling his son's hair.

They made their way across the cemetery, passing rows of tombstones until they reached hers. Frank removed the old flowers and placed the new ones, tucking Miles' drawing within the blue-violet blossoms—irises, Jamia's favorite. They stayed there for a long while, Frank retelling stories about Jamia to Miles, "Remember that? It got all over the place!" Miles giggled as he pulled blades of grass and twirled them between his fingers. After a while they got up, Frank taking Miles' hand in his as they made to leave. Miles pulled away and ran up to the tombstone and wrapped his little arms around it tightly. Frank couldn't help the watering of his eyes then.

They sat at the ice cream shop, in need of a good cheer after the visit to the grave. Miles' cone was dripping down his arm from the summer heat. "What do you want to do? We can do anything you want," Frank offered, wiping his son's arm with a napkin "Wanna stop by the store and get some toys?"

Miles shook his head.

"How about a movie?"

Miles considered it for a moment, looking down at his ice cream.

"Wanna see Jesse today?" Jesse was his babysitter. Miles had a crush on her. She's twenty.

A smile crept up on his mouth as he scrunched up his face, shaking his head slowly.

"No?"

And then he nodded.

Frank dropped him off at home, handing Jesse the key to the house. He supposed he could spare to enjoy a few moments to himself but as he was driving, he found himself at his tattoo parlor. He saw Bert splayed out on a chair, his feet resting on the counter with a magazine in his hands. He greeted him with a nod. "Five came in today. One wouldn't shut up about some new artist in Old Town. Said he was only here because they were booked for a month. Asshole," Bert said. He finally glanced up, giving Frank a once-over. "What's with the face?"

"It's been two years," Frank said, as he began absently flipping through the appointment calendar.

Bert looked at him quizzically until the realization dawned on him. "Shit, I'm sorry, man. Well, why are you here? Go out. I dunno—buy some shit you don't need. You don't have to come to work. It's a Tuesday." He added, "Or better yet—get laid."

Frank shook his head in distaste.  _Charming_.

"I mean, how long has it been?"

Frank remained silent.

"You're killing yourself, dude." Bert was enjoying the bachelor life, easily hooking up with the women that came through town on their way to Las Vegas. "If you don't get laid tonight, I'm hiring a pro and sending 'em your way," Bert called out after him.

"No thanks!" Frank exited with a wave.

Frank headed for the bar. He didn't drink, not anymore. But he still preferred the laid-back vibe of a bar than a family restaurant. He sat down and was met with, "The usual?" from Adam, the owner. He was also a client at the parlor. He slid over a virgin mule. Frank eyed the ring on his finger. He was a family man with a wife and three kids, living the life he and Jamia had planned. "Takin' the kids out to a baseball game next week. You and Miles should join us!" he said, chipper as ever.

"Yeah, I think he'd like that." Frank noticed a woman sitting three seats down giving him the eye. He flashed her the ring on his finger and she flashed him hers with a grin. He set his empty glass down, placed a couple of bills on the counter, gave Adam a salute, and left.

He knocked on his front door and was greeted with Jesse. She had bright hazel eyes and short dark hair. She resembled Jamia sometimes. He supposed that's why Miles was so attached to her. "Miles is asleep. I gave him his medicine and he ate most of his dinner," she said, handing him the house key.

"Thanks, Jesse," Frank said. "Oh—here. For the short notice." He handed her an extra twenty.

"Are you sure? Appreciate it!" She bounded down the driveway with a wave.

He entered his house, the shutting of the front door echoing throughout the emptiness of the foyer. He checked in on Miles, fast asleep, as promised, clutching a stuffed doll in his hand. He returned to the kitchen to grab a soda water before he stepped out into the backyard and lit a cigarette. Alcohol, he quit, but tobacco, was a hard sell. He indulged in it occasionally when things got tough and tonight seemed to fit that bill. He lazily strode over towards the lake, where he used to find Jamia reading on a boat sometimes, now glistening with moonlight and humming with summer insects.

His eyes fell on something white slumped over in the grass. He thought it might have been a pile of sheets. Maybe it flew in from the neighbors yard. Or a large bird. No—it was too big to be a bird. As he approached he saw that it was a person. A man, stark naked, his cropped hair silvery white. "What the—" He leapt back, startled, dropping the cigarette from his hand. "What... are you?" He was meaning to say  _who are you_  until he saw the pair of large, white wings sprouting from his back.

The stranger pulled himself up on his hands and looked up at him, crystal eyes, staring up at him in emerald and gold, and he found himself captivated for a moment. Until he realized there was blood, on his face, his limbs, in bright red grazes. 

Frank knelt in front of him. "Are you alright?" 

"Frank—" the man uttered before he collapsed into his arms.

And that's how he discovered the angel. Little did he know, this would be the start of something highly unconventional.

 


	2. Milk

["Prophecies" - Philip Glass, Anton Batagov]

-

Frank eyed the man sitting across from him at the dining room table, the shorts he lent him coming up short on his longer limbs. White sheets were wrapped around his shoulders. "You can see me?" the man asked.

"Of course I can see you." Frank watched as he reached out and placed his hand on his.

"You can feel me?"

Frank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Yeah, what—"

"Oh, heavens!" he said as he grasped his head with his hands.

Frank wondered if he was on drugs. And why he was speaking like he belonged in a black and white movie from the forties. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Gerard. My name is Gerard," he repeated.

Frank's gaze fell over his wings for the millionth time that night and he shook his head in disbelief. "Okay, is this all some kind of joke? This is a prank, right?"

Gerard looked confused. "A 'prank'?"

"You got me, buddy. I fell for it. Did Bert put you up to this?" This had 'Bert' written all over it. He was always trolling him at work. Despite this being the most elaborate of ruses he's ever done, making some poor sap bleach his hair and lie naked in his backyard. He could already hear him now:  _I told you I'd send someone over. A nice young man to keep you warm at night._ He had to hand it to him. He'd really outdone himself this time. Gerard shifted in his seat, glancing up at him and looking around.

"This can't be real." Frank gestured to his wings. "This must be some sort of mechanical, robotic—" He prodded one of them with a finger and it pulled back with a quick jerk. "Holy shit!" He recoiled. It earned him a look of disapproval. "You're—" The thought was so absurd he couldn't even bring himself to say it out loud.

"An angel," Gerard finished for him. He winced and brought a hand up to his wing, the feathers disheveled and bloody at the wrist.

Frank rummaged through the pantry for the first aid kit. He set it out on the table and dampened a patch of gauze with peroxide. He approached him tentatively, laying a hand against the injured wing. It felt warm. He could feel the joints. It was real. The white feathers splayed out underneath his hand. He stroked the silvery iridescence with his fingers and Gerard shuddered. When he lifted the sheets off of him, his gaze fell to his back where the limbs were clearly attached—small, fine feathers blending into skin.

He held onto his forearm as he cleaned the dried blood and bound the wounds on his wrist and elbow, with Gerard watching his every move with interest. Placing a hand along his jaw, he wiped the gauze along his cheek and forehead. He was noticing how long his lashes are. And when his eyes fell on his lips, looking pink and soft, he found himself paused. He didn't realize he'd been standing so close. Or had he moved? Gerard's hand came up to wrap around his wrist, his gaze falling, breaking the contact. Frank stepped back quickly. "Well, nothing's broken, I don't think. You're just scraped up," he said as he draped the sheets over him again.

"Thank you," Gerard said, pulling the fabric around him.

"How did you end up here?" he asked, distractedly cleaning up the bloody gauze from the table.

Gerard looked down, face worried. Then he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around his stomach.

"Are you hungry?" Frank asked, searching the pantry. "I have cereal, some almond milk— Nix that. There's no more cereal." He poured him a glass of milk. "There's some lasagna, veggie burgers—" When he placed the cup on the table, Gerard's eyes lit up.

"Do you have honey?" he asked.

Frank brought out a bottle and handed him a spoon. He watched him squeeze a generous helping of honey into the glass, stir quickly, and drink it in one go. "You sure you don't want anything else?" Gerard shook his head, leaning back in his seat, satiated. When he glanced at the clock on the microwave, it read two fifty-six. "I gotta go to sleep. I guess, you'd better get back to—wherever you're from," Frank said, picking up his glass of water.

Gerard clutched the sheets around him. "Can I sleep with you?"

Frank choked on his water, needing a moment to regain his composure as he coughed. "No offense, but I barely know anything about you. You said you're an 'angel.' What does that entail, exactly?"

"I'm yours—" he said.

Frank stared, swallowing the lump in his throat.

"—I'm your guardian angel."

He let out a boisterous laugh, despite himself, "I don't believe this." He shook his head as he muttered under his breath, more to himself than to Gerard. It's one thing to believe that this man had real wings, another to be asked to believe he's some celestial being.

Gerard took a deep breath. "When you were twenty-six, a truck hit your van with your friends. You would've died if it wasn't for the sleeping bags."

"Yeah, we got lucky. I've told that story to a lot of people. You're gonna have to do better than that," Frank said with a smirk.

"When you were seventeen, you were dared by Bob to jump into a lake. You hit a rock on your way down. If it hadn't been for the momentum, it would've been your head. Luckily, it was just your foot."

"Okay, now that—"

"When you were ten—do you remember the alleyway behind your house? You were on your bike on your way to meet Ray. You didn't see the truck turning the corner." He leaned forward, his expression urging him to remember. "You heard me."

"A beating of wings—"

Gerard nodded. "You got away with a scraped knee. You still have a scar there."

Frank had forgotten about that. He hadn't talked to Ray in ages. He found himself grasping his left knee under his jeans where there indeed was a scar in the shape of a crescent. He considered him for a while, searching his face for a hint of mockery, but he only stared back in earnest. "So, you're telling me you've been saving me from danger my whole life? There's no way—"

"You blame yourself for Jamia. But it wasn't your fault." His brows furrowed. "You deserve to be happy again."

Frank blanched before he expelled his breath. A burst of anger flared up inside him. "What do you know?" he said.

He was the one driving that night. He and his wife had just come from a rare date night. They were crossing the intersection when the sedan came from the right. Last thing he saw was a bright light and the sound of crunching metal. When he woke up, she was gone. He had been unconscious for eight hours.

"That's the thing. I  _do_ know."

"Then why didn't you help her?" he found himself saying.

Gerard was wringing his fingers on his lap, staring up at him helplessly. "I'm so sorry, Frank," he said after a long while.

Frank drew a hand through his hair, feeling dazed. "Please—it's been a long day," he said, standing. He strode over towards the front door. Gerard stared for a moment then walked over. He made to pull the sheets from his back. "You can keep it." Frank said, impatiently. And Gerard left.

He splashed his face with cold water and stared at his reflection in the bathroom. Adam must've mixed some alcohol into his drink by accident. Tomorrow he would wake up to find out this was all just a wild dream. He got into bed and lay there for a full five minutes before he got up to look outside the window. As he expected, Gerard was still out there in his front yard. He sighed and went outside. He saw him crouched over by the bushes, peering into the bird's nest.

"Where are you from?" he asked, pulling his attention. Then his tone softened as a thought just occurred to him. "Are— are you homeless?"

"My home..." he pointed up.

"Of course. You're from heaven."

He nodded, not catching his sarcasm. "I can't go back home. I can't fly right now," Gerard said as he spread out his wing to show what he was referencing. "Besides, I can't feel the light anymore. It's as if I've been closed off. I don't remember what happened and how I ended up here," he said, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Frank inhaled, deciding to just say it before he changed his mind. "Would you like to stay?" And Gerard smiled.

Despite the prospect of inviting a strange man into his house with his son sleeping downstairs, he felt sure Gerard meant no harm. He couldn't explain why but he had a good gut-feeling about him and he felt strangely familiar, like an old friend. And if he actually is an angel, which he still had his doubts about, then he could trust him. Angels were good, right?

On the other hand, if he was a murderer, he would've been dead by now.

He led him up to the attic, hauling an armful of bedding. He laid out several blankets on the ground for him. "You can crash here." Gerard sat down on it, gazing up at him expectantly. "Help yourself to anything if you're hungry. I'll be downstairs if you need me." Even as he left, he felt the angel's gaze boring into his shoulders.

He had just laid down in his own bed with an exhausted sigh when he heard his door click open as Gerard peered inside.

"Gerard?" He sat up.

"Is this your nest?" he asked as he entered.

"Um, I guess—"

He lingered by the door, as if contemplating what to say. "I'm sorry I brought up Jamia. I didn't mean to hurt you."

Frank considered something for a moment. "Is she—" He didn't know how exactly to word it:  _Is she okay? In heaven?_  "—at peace?"

He nodded. "She loves you. And she knows you love her too," he said, offering a smile.

"I miss her."

Gerard approached him by the bed as he bit his lower lip. "I can make you feel better," he offered.

Frank pursed his lips. "You have to be hearing yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"The stuff you say—it's suggestive."

"Suggestive to what?" he asked, cocking his head.

"It sounds—I don't know—intimate."

The expression on his face was blank and oblivious as ever. Frank gave up. "We'd better go to bed. Good night, Gerard." Then to his surprise, he was climbing into bed next to him, his wing coming up to cover him. "What are you doing?" Frank said, jumping back, startling him.

He stared at him with wide eyes. "I thought we were going to bed?"

"Yes,  _separate_ beds—"

He blinked. "Why?"

"Well—because that's just the way it is!"

Gerard looked crestfallen. "I used to sleep together with my sisters and brothers in our nest."

Frank imagined a flock of angels huddled together in a giant nest, like baby chicks. The thought amused him and he couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image. Gerard gave him an annoyed look. "No, no, I'm not laughing at you, I just—" He considered explaining but thought better of it. "I'm sorry," he muttered. He felt Gerard press up against him, his wing coming over him again, and he sighed. It was heavy. And hot. But he couldn't offer a retort. Not when he looked so content with his eyes closed with a smile on his face. Then suddenly, he started feeling oddly calm—a sensation that could only be best described as "warm and fuzzy". His eyelids grew heavy and he drifted off to sleep under his embrace.

He dreamt that he could fly, soaring over the lake on feathery white wings.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm loving bird!gerard


	3. Innocence

["Singur" - Oskar Schuster]  **Played this song on loop while writing. This is the song that _someone_ plays in the middle of the chapter** ♡

-

In the morning, Frank found himself feeling light. It was the most rest he'd gotten in months. It wasn't unusual for him to only get six hours of sleep each night—seven, if lucky, no matter what he did. Now, it felt like he'd gotten at least ten, no longer feeling the numbness in his head and the aching in his eyes he'd usually feel upon waking. He blinked away the sleep as the occurrences of the night before came back to him—Gerard. He looked around the room to find it empty. Then suddenly, he heard a bellowing from outside the room. He sprang from his bed and burst into the kitchen. "Miles!"

"Have mercy!" Gerard cried in feigned distress with Miles atop his shoulders.

"Argh! I'm a monster!" Miles roared as he giggled, holding onto the man's face and hair. Frank gaped. It's been ages since he'd heard him speak.

Gerard ran around the kitchen island, holding onto Miles' legs as the child let out a thrilled screech. "Good morning!" he called out as he halted in front of Frank.

"Hi, daddy," Miles said with a wave. Frank gingerly picked him up off of Gerard's shoulders, placing him on the ground and held him out at arm's length. He paused for a moment to look at him, maybe to convince himself that this was real. Miles was speaking again. His heart swelled and he had to tell himself to not get emotional.

"Hey. You hungry?" Frank asked. He fixed up french toast for everyone. Gerard hesitantly picked up a forkful of toast, poking at it with his tongue to taste it, before he frowned and placed it back on the plate. Instead, he settled for downing glass after glass of his concoction of milk and honey.

"Milk and honey, huh? How can you live off of that stuff?" Frank asked with an amused smirk.

"That's all there is in heaven," Gerard said, simply.

Frank had a lot of questions for him in regards to this "heaven" business. Like, what exactly were the technicalities? Did angels go to sleep and eat? What did they do all day? Do they follow around their respective humans all the time? But these were all questions for another time.

"Hey, get dressed. We'll get you to school," he said to Miles, and he watched him scurry into his room then began clearing plates absently. "You know, Miles barely talks ever since-" he trailed off, looking down to his hands and twisting the ring on his finger. "I guess what I'm trying to say is... thank you." He turned to Gerard who was smiling at him, blissfully unaware of the milk mustache on his upper lip that completely broke the gravity of the conversation. Frank did a double-take. "Um... You got uh..." He gestured to his face. "Here," he said, handing him a napkin and clearing his throat. "How are your injuries?" Gerard strained to lift up a wing, struggling to spread it open all the way. Frank took his forearm and lifted the gauze from his wrist, seeing the wound had scabbed. "Well, I'm gonna drop off Miles then come back and help you out." He called Bert to let him know he would be coming in late to tend to an emergency.  _Rough night, huh? No worries_ , Bert said. Oh, he didn't know the half of it.

When Miles emerged from his room with his backpack on, they headed towards the front door with Gerard close behind. "Um, I don't think it's a good idea for you to go outside," Frank said, as he looked pointedly at his wings.

"But if you leave I won't be able to watch over you," Gerard said with a frown.

Frank blinked. That's right—guardian angel. "We'll be quick," he assured him but Gerard seemed to remain skeptical. "I promise," he added. As he and Miles drove off, he saw Gerard pressed up against the window of the foyer, giving them a sad wave, and he couldn't help a half-smile and a look of pity.

"Do you like Gerard?" Frank was asking Miles in the car.

He nodded with a giggle. "He's funny."

Frank was still in awe of him speaking again. He wished he would never stop. Then his thoughts fell on what he needed to do about Gerard. Looks like he wasn't leaving any time soon. If he was staying for a while, he would have to take precautions. "Hey, we have to keep him a secret, okay? You can't tell anyone. Not even Jesse." Miles looked at him quizzically. Frank put on a solemn expression as he leaned over to him. "He's an angel sent to earth on a top secret mission. And we have to keep him a secret to protect him," he said in a hushed tone. It wasn't entirely a lie. Miles took a moment to process this information then nodded fervently and Frank sent him off with a wave once they arrived at his school. "Have fun!" he called out.

The moment he returned to his house, he was tackled with a hug. "You're back!" Gerard said, squeezing. Frank still had to get used to how affectionate and physical he was. He pulled away hesitantly with his hands on his shoulders and eyed his shorts and the sheets he had around him. Even though he managed to fashion it around himself in a way that it resembled a robe, he would have to get him some new clothes.

"Let's get you washed up," Frank said. He drew a bath for Gerard in the master bathroom and helped undo his bandages, and as soon as the last bit of gauze was peeled from his skin, Gerard stripped himself of his makeshift clothes in front of him, completely unaware and shameless, leaving Frank stunned. He had seen him naked before when he found him in the grass in the dark. But now, as he stood in front of him, he was tracing his eyes along his body, milky skin looking perfectly smooth. He felt a sort of despondency at seeing it marred with the red grazes, some of them looking like they would definitely scar. His limbs were long and supple, and his wings were folded neatly behind his back. He noticed a patch of speckled brown feathers hidden amongst the sea of white ones on his left wing.  _Cute_ , he thought. It was like discovering a birth mark on a lover.

He paled at his own thoughts and looked away quickly, finally realizing he had been staring for far too long. Then he heard a splash. Gerard was rolling in the bathtub, wings flapping, sending water onto the floor, drenching Frank all over his front in the process.

"Thank you for that," Frank deadpanned.

"This feels amazing! You must join me, Frank!" he said, reaching a hand out to him.

"No—uh, no thanks. I'm fine here. I'll just take a shower later." He looked at the water dripping from his ivory hair, over his neck and down his chest. He turned to the door before he let his gaze drop any lower.

"Wait! Don't leave!" Gerard said.

"Don't worry. I'll be right outside the door." He shut the door behind him with a sigh before he proceeded to retrieve a couple of old t-shirts from the closet along with the sewing kit, and sat atop his bed to get to work. He listened to Gerard humming and the sloshing of water behind the closed bathroom door as he went about cutting two slits at the bottom of the shirts to fit his wings. Then he sewed on snap buttons to fasten them the ends. By the time he was done with one shirt, he realized it had gone silent.

"Frank?" Gerard called out.

"Yeah?" Frank stood and approached the door, listening for his reply. "I'm coming in," he warned, not that it would matter to him anyway. When he opened the door, he had to stifle a laugh. Gerard was sitting in a mountain of bubbles looking frustrated. All that sloshing must've created more.

"This is strange. I can't get these clouds off me," Gerard said, wiping at them only to spread more on himself.

Frank chuckled. "They're not clouds. They're bubbles." He walked over and blew the small cluster of foam clung to his shoulder. Gerard gasped, then proceeded to blow the bubbles off his arm, sending them scattering into the air. Frank sat on the ground beside the tub and they both took turns scooping up handfuls of bubbles, blowing them into the air and watching them float slowly down, Gerard giggling all the while, and Frank couldn't help grinning also. Soon they were both covered.

"Oh, Frank, you have some on your face." Gerard leaned over the tub. Frank watched in awe as he puckered his lips before he softly blew against his face before he sat back into the tub with a smile, blinking away at the bubbles on his lashes. "I wonder what you're thinking," he said, as he rested his chin against his arms on the side of the tub, gazing up at him. He was the embodiment of the cherubs from the Sistine chapel, eyes full of innocence and ponder. "You know, I used to be able to read your mind at all times, but I can't anymore," he said, pulling Frank from his reverie. "Not in this physical form."

"Wait. You read my mind?" he asked, feeling a horror washing over him.

"Oh yes! Every single thought." Gerard nodded enthusiastically.

Frank wiped his face with his hand. He wanted to ask what but then decided he didn't want to subject himself to the humiliation.

"Don't worry. I haven't intruded during the times when you were..." Gerard thought hard a moment for the right words, "Less virtuous!"

Frank shut his eyes and groaned, mortified.

Gerard looked down at himself. "I am not used to this body. There are still so many things about it that I don't understand, like this for instance—" He reached between his legs underneath the water and Frank visibly reddened. It was an innocent gesture, as one would do if they happened to sprout a new body part, but he couldn't help squirming in his seat on the floor, trying to look away but finding himself unable to.

"Gerard—" he began, but the angel suddenly stood from the bathtub, leaving Frank completely eye-level with his crotch. He sat there, stunned once more, as Gerard ruffled his feathers, puffing them before he stepped out of the tub and into the bedroom. Frank quickly got up and grabbed a towel. Before he could catch up to him, Gerard happily threw himself onto the bed.

"Alright, first lesson is modesty," Frank began with a huff. "You can't just run around naked,  _especially_ when Miles is around, okay? I'm not looking forward to years of therapy having to explain 'naked winged man'," he said, eyes averted, extending his arm out to Gerard to hand him the towel. "Here." He brandished the shirt he'd altered for him. "So you could fit your wings. See?" He snapped the buttons to demonstrate.

Gerard threw his arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. "Thank you, Frank!"

Frank held him by his waist, withdrawing himself. That's when he noticed his hands weren't placed on the fabric of a towel, instead he felt the smoothness of bare skin. He glanced down to see that his towel had fallen. "Come on. Let's get you dressed," he said tiredly. He handed him a pair of boxers, not looking at him. He didn't know why he bothered at this point, he had seen more than enough of Gerard than he'd asked for. "Sorry, you're gonna have to borrow mine. They're clean, I promise. I'll pick up some new ones for you later." He turned and heard the rustling of the fabric as Gerard put them on.

"Done!" Gerard announced. When Frank turned to face him, he mentally cursed himself for finding it ridiculously hot to see him in boxers— _his_ boxers. He moved behind Gerard to hide his flustered state as he slipped the t-shirt over him and secured the buttons.

Moments later, Gerard was treated with ointment and fresh gauze, and was finally  _fully clothed_ , to Frank's relief. "I'm gonna get ready for work," Frank announced. He watched the angel blinking at him from the center of the room as he shut the door of the bathroom with a click.

When he stepped into the shower, he turned the water to cold. He exhaled loud and long, as he stood shivering under the spray. Images of a naked Gerard mercilessly flashed in his mind and he felt a heat building up in his stomach. All morning he'd been struggling to keep himself from reaching out and touching him, resisting the urge to smooth his fingertips over his pale skin. He found himself enamored with his innocence, the way he would gaze up at him, expecting nothing but kindness from him, despite the frustration Frank had shown him the very first night they've met. What's worse, is now he had to come to terms with the nagging truth he'd been suppressing ever since the moment he'd first laid eyes on him, because it was painfully (literally) clear to him now.

He was attracted to Gerard.

"Ah, fuck me," he cursed himself under his breath. He had thoroughly mourned his wife's passing, never having looked twice at another woman since, always keeping the white gold band on his finger. And now, as he found himself thinking of Gerard—who was very clearly, a man, in less than innocent ways, he felt the guilt as if he'd betrayed her. No, not a man—an angel. Weren't angels supposed to be pure or whatever? Somehow that made the situation seem even hotter somehow. He looked down and was shocked and embarrassed that he was semi-erect, despite the cold water pouring down on him. But he refused to jerk off to Gerard. He made a silent promise to himself not to and he stepped out of the shower, aching.

When he entered the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, he was relieved to find Gerard had gone from the room. As he got dressed, he heard the soft tinkling of notes from the piano upstairs. A memory flashed back in his mind of Jamia. She loved playing the piano. She would play together with Miles and give him lessons as Frank watched. He remembered how the house used to be filled with music. These days, there had only been silence, especially since Miles had gone quiet after it happened. And now, as he heard the music again, it almost felt like he was dreaming.

He stepped out into the hallway. The piano continued it's haunting song, beckoning him up the stairs. So he climbed them, and pushed through the door to peer inside, his heart tugging, almost expecting his wife returned. He saw Gerard stroking the ivory keys in its high-key melody. He was completely immersed in his performance, swaying with the melancholy tune. Frank felt all kinds of emotions stir up within himself: sadness, happiness, longing, all spun together in one jumbled mass, threatening to bubble up from inside his chest and spill from his eyes. The song came to an end and he was pulled from his trance. He didn't even realize he had made his way across the room to be standing right by the piano. The angel's gaze finally lifted to him as he placed his hands down on his lap as the final note was sustained and slowly fading throughout the room.

Frank wondered why Gerard ended up here. He wondered if the angel was meant to torment him by unearthing memories he had long suppressed about his wife, making his chest hurt. The truth is, he missed this. He missed hearing music but he had closed that part of himself up long ago; his treasured guitars left untouched, collecting dust, the piano was left covered in the white sheets for so long, he had even forgotten what it looked like.

He drew his fingertips along the wooden frame as he sat next to Gerard on the piano chair. "You played it perfectly," he said. Gerard studied him for a while, pale hazel eyes flitting from one part of his face to the other. Frank swallowed the lump in his throat as he stared back, nervous under his scrutiny. Then Gerard lifted his finger to wipe against Frank's cheek. Frank pulled away, surprised, blinking. He noticed a wetness and quickly wiped at his eyes, embarrassed, "Sorry. I-I don't know what came over me-"

But Gerard's expression was steady, "Don't be sorry, Frank. Never be sorry for feeling love." Frank stared back in shock at his words. "Love is a gift. It's a blessing to be able to experience it," Gerard said, his voice quieting almost to a whisper. His gaze fell to his hands on his lap. Frank noticed his expression was sad, even though he was trying to hide it. He wondered why he would be.

"Gerar-?"

"Frank," Gerard interrupted, "Do you want to go outside?" He got up and already started making his way across the room before Frank could react. They stood in front of the backdoor, Frank glancing outside to the yard, then over to his neighbors'. Gerard's wings were too big to conceal so taking him out in public was out of the question. Gerard opened the door and was halfway through it before Frank stopped him gently by his shoulder.

"You have to be careful. People are going to start asking questions," Frank said.

Gerard turned to him with a mildly surprised look. "I would be honest. I would tell them the truth!"

"You can't tell them the truth. They'll think you're crazy."

Gerard looked confused. "Then... would I... lie?"

"No, you don't need to lie," he reassured him and Gerard exhaled in relief. "But you do need to be careful. There are not that many angels walking around on Earth." Gerard frowned but slowly nodded in understanding and shut the door. Frank glanced at the clock. It was already afternoon. "Miles is gonna be home soon with the babysitter—"

"Jesse?" Gerard said.

Frank was surprised for a second, having forgotten Gerard knew about everything already. "Well, they're gonna be here any moment now and I'm gonna have to ask you to stay upstairs. There's books if you'd like to read." He moved the mini fridge upstairs from the office and stocked it full of water and milk.

Just as he was finished, he heard the front door click open as Jesse and Miles entered. He went downstairs to meet them. "Oh, Frank! You're here! Thought I saw your car outside," Jesse said, taking Miles' backpack from him.

"Hey, just so you know, I have a friend staying over and he likes to keep to himself. So if you hear anything upstairs, that's him," Frank said as he gave Miles a wink.

He was finally off to work. During his drive he was feeling triumphant with thinking through Operation: keep Gerard a secret. Once he got to the tattoo parlor, he saw Bert with a client. "Hey," Bert called over the buzzing of the tattoo gun. After the client paid and left, Frank half-expected him to say something, mention Gerard. But there was nothing—no sly smirk, no snide comment.

As he sat down to work, his mind began replaying the scenes of that morning; more specifically, what Gerard had said to him by the piano, _Don't be sorry, Frank. Never be sorry for feeling love._  It was undoubtedly one of the cheesiest things he'd ever heard someone say to him directly. A close second was whenever Bert would get drunk enough, he'd throw his arm around him and exclaim his love for him. One time in particular, just last month Bert had said,  _You know I love you, Iero. If you were a girl, I'd make out with ya. Fuck it._  Frank screwed his eyes shut as Bert took his face between his hands and smacked a wet kiss onto his mouth with an exaggerated  _Muah!_  and Frank immediately brought his hand up to wipe at his lips. Bert was always pulling shit like this. Frank knew it was harmless and it didn't mean anything. He thought it was amusing. Well, most of the time. 

"What's this?" Bert said, as he glanced over his shoulder. "Nice. On an angel kick lately?" Frank looked down at the sketches he'd been making; angel wings.

"Ah... yeah. Been thinking about—" he said, bringing a hand to rub at the back of his neck. "You know, my wife."

Bert gave him a sympathetic smile before he patted him on the back. "I'm gonna head out," he announced, as he gathered his bag and exited through the front door.

When Frank got home, it was late. He hauled in a bunch of essentials for Gerard: toothbrush, toothpaste, underwear—a necessity more for his sanity than anything, some clothes, and several cartons of milk as well as a couple bottles of honey.

The three spent the evening upstairs in dimmed lighting. Gerard was sat atop his makeshift bed, reading aloud a book as Miles was laying down on a pile of pillows beside him with droopy eyelids. Frank watched from his seat on the armchair, resting his head against his hand.

"'What is real?' asked the rabbit one day... 'Real isn't how you are made,' said the Skin Horse. 'It's a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become real...' 'Does it hurt?' asked the Rabbit. 'Sometimes,' said the Skin Horse... 'When you are real you don't mind being hurt... but once you are real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always. 'It doesn't happen all at once,' said the Skin Horse. 'You become. It takes a long time.'"

Frank liked listening to Gerard's tenor voice as it dipped and rose whenever he did the voices of the characters. While reading, he would glance every so often at Miles to see his eyes watching eagerly with interest, despite his yawn; he was struggling to try to stay awake to hear the story that he'd already heard a million times before read by his mom.

"That night, and for many nights after, the Velveteen Rabbit slept in the Boy's bed. At first he found it rather uncomfortable, for the Boy hugged him very tight, and sometimes he rolled over on him, and sometimes he pushed him so far under the pillow that the Rabbit could scarcely breathe. But very soon he grew to like it, for the Boy used to talk to him, and made nice tunnels for him under the bedclothes that he said were like the burrows the real rabbits lived in. And they had splendid games together, in whispers, when Nana had gone away to her supper and left the night-light burning on the mantelpiece. And when the Boy dropped off to sleep, the Rabbit would snuggle down close under his little warm chin and dream, with the Boy's hands clasped close round him all night long." 

It wasn't until moments after Miles had ended up falling asleep that either of them noticed. Gerard set down the book and finally looked up at Frank, matching the gaze he'd been giving him this whole time. Frank gave him a smile and a soft "Thank you" as he stood from his seat and strode over to the little bed next to Miles.

"Frank. Do you think I'm Real?"

Frank paused. "You mean, a real angel?"

"No, I mean, Real like the way it was mentioned in the story..."

"Oh."

'Real' in the story meant 'loved'. He wasn't keen on declaring his love for him any time soon but Gerard had become a part of their lives in record time in only two evenings. He supposed that was reason enough. He liked him. And of course, Miles liked him too. "Yeah. I mean, you're Real to us."

Gerard seemed satisfied with the answer, grinning, and he made to stand also. "Time for bed?" he asked with his renewed vigor, then it dawned on Frank what he was thinking.

"I'm sorry, but you should sleep here tonight, Gerard," he said with an apologetic smile. He honestly didn't know what he would do if he crawled into bed with him again tonight, after everything that happened today. Even when he was at work, he couldn't stop thinking about him; it was honestly getting a little out of hand.

"I'm not used to being alone," Gerard said quietly as he knelt.

Frank stared in surprise at this confession. "You're not alone. I'll just be right downstairs." Gerard looked down at his lap with a sad frown and Frank decided he had no choice but to comfort him. He sat down in front of him cross-legged on the bed. "I can stay with you for a bit."

Gerard's eyes lit up as he slipped under the covers. Then, to Frank's surprise, he took his hand in his, gently squeezing as he gazed up at him through his lashes. Moments passed where they watched each other, no words, just silence. It was peaceful and comforting; it was home. Frank silently thanked, the heavens, he supposed, for delivering Gerard into their lives. He remembered, even last week, their days have been bleak, with only work and school and silence to look forward to. Now the house seemed to be overflowing with laughter and smiles and light ever since Gerard had showed up. He knew he couldn't read his mind anymore but he hoped he would be able to now; that his soft smile would be enough for him to know that he was glad he was here and that he truly was more 'Real' than he would know.

They watched each other for a long time until eventually Gerard closed his eyes and Frank saw the steady rising and falling of his chest. He squeezed his hand before slipping his away and picked up Miles and carried him downstairs, all the while smiling to himself.

-

 **I love The Velveteen Rabbit** ♡  **Thanks for being patient. I just realized I had this draft for a month now.**


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